Rock Bottom
by Fira Astrali
Summary: It's a well known fact that Falco's life didn't start out on the path of the dashing hero. Find within my take on his origins story, starting with the Hot Rodders of Eladard. Rated T for violence, drug use, and language.
1. Chapter 1

The street was cold and damp, rain poured down on the down trodden inhabitants of Eladard's Rho sector. It was dark, the sun was down, the market was closed. The only ones still out on the street were the few factory workers lucky enough to have a home to go to.

The roar of motorcycles cleared the road. People scattered in all directions to escape the dozen or so bikes that rounded the corner, carrying the members of the Space Hot Rodders. They laughed to each other, completely ignorant of the pedestrians around them. A tall avian rode at the head. He was shirtless, the rain pouring down his back. Across his chest was a tattoo of a winged snake coiled into an intricate design, ringed with flames. Every member of the gang had it, but not displayed as prominently as his. He had the same tattoo on each wrist.

They followed him to a warehouse in the heart of the sector. A dozen more bikes of various models were parked outside, all with the gang symbol painted lovingly on the gas tank. Avians were everywhere, milling about, drinking, fighting. They cheered when the tattooed man and his entourage arrived, and moved out of his way so he could park next to the door. A woman stood waiting. She wore little more than ripped shorts and a stained tank top that was constantly slipping off her shoulder. Once upon a time, her feathers had been a deep, royal purple, and her eyes had been blue. Now, they were both washed out, one to a poorly kempt lavender, the other almost to grey. She held an open beer bottle and an unlit cigarette she had rolled herself. She leaned against the door frame, both to look sexy, and because she was having trouble standing on her own.

"Hey Falco," she whispered breathily as he killed his engine. He smirked at her and approached, wrapping his arm around her thin waist and pulling her in close.

"Hey yourself," he replied in the Rho brand of Undercommon, tapping her chin gently with his bent index finger to raise her head. With a drunken smile, she held up the contents of her hand.

"I rolled this one just for you, s-sweetie. Thought we could take this ride to...gether."

"You look like you're already pretty deep babe, I might have to chase this dragon on my own."

"Wha? No, you don't gotta' be like that I'm-" She tried to step away from him, but lost her balance and tripped. He grabbed her up in his arms, holding her aloft. "I'm fine…" she finished sheepishly. Falco didn't reply. He banged on the door with his elbow. The sound of a chair scraping on cement could be heard over the music inside. A few seconds later the door opened. Another avian, mottled grey, with tattoos all over his face. He filled in most of the doorway.

"You're late, bro."

"I'm never late to my own party, bitch." Falco pushed past his bouncer and shooed a couple off the couch. He tried to deposit his girl on it, but she giggled and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. Falco couldn't help but laugh, and nuzzled her neck.

"You are really messed up right now, Ray."

"Not as messed as I wanna' be," Ray giggled, holding up the rolled smoke. "You got a light?"

Falco grinned and dug into his pocket, producing a dark blue lighter. He shifted off of her so they could both sit up on the old couch. He held it up, and she put the smoke in her mouth, holding one end to the flame. It caught, and she inhaled deeply.

Her head drooped, and she looked like she was about to fall asleep. Her hand loosened, and she handed the joint off to Falco before she dropped it. She stayed tipped forward, her hands on her face, elbows on her knees.

Falco leaned back before he took his drag. It lasted almost ten seconds. He'd been chasing the dragon for a long time, and took it 'like a champ', as the other said. For him it was just an annoyance, because dragon was expensive and it took longer to take him down. He had time to get comfortable as he waited for the hit.

When it finally did come, it hit him like a tidal wave. He felt a chill run through his body, immediately followed by a soft warmth. The music and the yelling seemed to become farther and farther and softer and softer, until it just barely echoed in the squishy parts of his brain. It wasn't even real, all in his head. He looked over at Ray, thought to maybe reach out and touch her, but when he turned his head, she was sitting at the very end of the couch, some 300 feet away. He reached out his hand anyways, but some weird blue thing responded instead. Was that his arm? He recognized the tattoo, but that was definitely not his arm. It felt like he was looking at a hunk of meat sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool. He took another long drag. His muscles felt like nothing. They never existed, never would exist. He was just a body without a memory.

He had no idea how he even managed to get to his feet when the door busted open. There was a lot of shooting and screaming, but it was hard to tell who was screaming and who was shooting. There were just as many avians in the Eladard Peace Force as in the Hot Rodders, and their colours blended together until his vision resembled a watercolour painting. Only Ray was clear in his mind, sitting 300 feet away, staring wide eyed in the direction he thought was the door. She was either terrified, or gone. He took one step and was standing in front of her.

Someone tapped him hard on the shoulder twice. He turned around in annoyance, but saw nothing except a smudge of white, holding a gun. He tried to ask what the smudge wanted, but he was aware of the fact that anything that was coming out of his mouth would be pure gibberish. He couldn't hear himself talk. He reached up to scratch the place where he'd been tapped on the shoulder. His hand came away warm and red.

Ray started screaming. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but someone punched him hard in the face first. It reverberated through his skull and made the side of his face cold. The whole right side of his body, actually. He tried to turn and see who it was, but his body wouldn't respond if he tried to turn right.

He broke through the surface for a moment, and everything about the midnight raid snapped back into garish reality. The sound was still muted, the world still in slow-mo, but he could see perfectly well. The icy punch had been him hitting the floor. The white smudge -an albatross in reality- was reaching over him, grabbing Ray's arm and wrenching her up. Tears were streaming down her face as she screamed Falco's name over and over again. He tried to reach out for her, but his left arm would not respond, and his right was trapped under his body. The colours of the carnage around him bled back together again as he fell back into his stoned stupor. He could see blood spreading on the floor around him, but could not for the life of him figure out if it was his, or anothers.

Worst. Trip. Ever.

The world came back to him uncomfortably quickly. He was assaulted by the smell of antiseptic and the noises of hospital machinery. His empty stomach heaved and he couldn't stop himself from gagging. He opened his eyes to a bright white room, too bright, after his trip last night. He had to squint so much he could barely keep his eyes open.

He could hear bits and pieces of a conversation going on in the room right next to him. It was and EPF officer that he recognized, though he couldn't remember from where. He'd had so many run ins it was hard to keep them all straight. He was talking to a small crowd that made Falco's stomach heave again. It was his family; brother, two sisters, and parents. His father, Drakke, wearing an expression of mingled alarm and rage, was taking the brunt of the officer's report.

"...no one really gives a shit. I think I've got everything dealt with, so you should be able to take him home in a couple of days."

"Thank you, Relle."

"Dammit Drakke, you shouldn't be thanking me, I'm just enabling this little shit. I swear to Ela Darr, if he wasn't your son, he'd've been in a prison work colony months ago. We found him in a Hot Rodder den, gang tats all over him, balls deep in a blunt full of dragon. If we pick him up one more time, it's lights out for him. He doesn't have any more chances…"

As the officer explain the situation to an ever more brooding Drakke, another avian in the group glanced over at Falco's bed. She was a few inches shorter than the towering patriarch, but it was obvious she was his daughter. She stood like him, moved like him, wore the same dark expression. That was Falco sister, Nerine. When she made eye contact with Falco, she tapped on her father's shoulder.

"Papa."

Drakke glanced up and saw that his son was awake. Falco looked away. He couldn't bare the look of total disappointment. Drakke muttered something to Nerine that Falco couldn't hear. She nodded and entered his medical room.

"Hey," she said noncommittally.

"Hey yourself," he replied, not sure what else to say. Her expression carried more worry than anger, but it was still boring into his chest.

"You look different," she observed. He nodded. He couldn't see it himself, but there was no doubt it was true. They hadn't seen each other in six months, so the chest piece was new, the second wrist tat would have been too. But she wasn't talking about that. She was talking about his eyes, once a dark blue, now grey, his feathers the same. Last time she'd seen him, he'd looked like a person, albeit a little rough. Now, he just looked like a junkie. "Looks like your Hot Rodder family has been taking good care of you."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Nerine's eyes narrowed, and he instantly regretted the words. He wanted to melt into the bed.

"Mom went into the hospital last time you left. Hysterical panic attacks. Every time she heard a gun go off, she'd lose her mind. Every time someone banged on our door, she thought it was the Peace Force telling her to come ID your corpse." She walked slowly across the room as she talked, stopping next to his bedside. She looked sideways at him. "I'm sure you're really proud of that."

Falco didn't reply. There was nothing he could say. He look out through the glass dividing wall, between him and the rest of his family. His mother was there, both arms wrapped around his father's. She was unnaturally thin, and looked a little unsteady on her feet. Somehow, she was still beautiful. She was staring intently through the glass, as if she was desperate to go in and talk to him, but too scared to loosen her hold on her husband's steadying arm. When he finally looked at her, she smiled and waved. He had to look away.

"What do you want from me?"

"To stop acting like some kind of hot shot, for starters. But a little bit of remorse would be nice."

"...So what happens now?"

Nerine didn't look at him, just stared hard at the bag of fluids that was hanging over his bed, dripping into his arm. "Depends whether or not dad is tired of putting up with your shit."

"Is he?" Falco couldn't keep the edge of fear out of his voice. Nerine didn't reply for a long time, but eventually she sighed and dropped heavily into a chair next to his bed. She propped her head up on her hand. No 21 year old should look as tired as she did in that moment.

"...not yet. Idiot junkie or not, you're still a Lombardi. You're still his son." She glanced back over her shoulder. "Papa is moving us to Corneria."

"What?!" Falco sat up sharply, and Nerine leaned forward to push him back down.

"If you'd been around, you'd know. We've been talking about this for months. Papa was offered a job with a Cornerian mercenary team, Mom's been accepted into a drug trial that isn't available here, and I want to get into the CDF." She looked meaningfully into his eyes. "Our family needs this Falco. You need this… Papa said… Papa told me to tell you that you can either come to Corneria with us… or we'll leave you here with your Hot Rodders. He says you can either have your family or your gang, but he won't let you hurt Mom anymore. I'm going to leave you to sleep, let you think about it… but just remember… if you break her heart again, you'll kill her."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I just want everyone to know, that certain sentences are italicized. That's because they are speaking Undercommon around people who only understand Common. I didn't do it last chapter, or at the beginning of this one, because everyone is speaking Undercommon all the time, and as such, it be a real pain in the butt for you all to read.

So, to be clear, **the italics show that people are speaking differently languages in the scene. **

* * *

Falco leaned heavily on an excruciatingly well cleaned sink. He hadn't bothered to turn the light on, and fumbled his way to the taps. The water felt like acid in his fingers. He splashed it on his face anyways. It had been nearly four days since Nerine had left him to think, and since then he'd slept a combined total of six hours. His joints felt like they were full of glass. He glanced up, and caught his reflection in the mirror. He somehow looked even worse than he had when he'd come in. He swayed unevenly, and the feathers on his neck where starting to fall out where he'd been picking at them incessantly. It seemed less than he deserved.

He thought of Ray, wondered whether or not she would be out by now. He thought of the letter to her in his pocket, written on the back of a napkin.

A gentle knock at the door made him turn, slowly. It opened a crack, letting light pour into the tiny room. It was Nerine, looking like she had expected him to be shooting something. Her shoulders didn't relax when she saw the state of her youngest brother.

"How are you feeling?" She asked nervously. He tried to smile, but he was sure it came out a little crooked.

"It can't get any worse than this," he lied. Nerine's eyes flickered to a small cup perched on the edge of the sink. Inside were two blue pills that were supposed to help with the withdrawal. She looked at him expectantly. He shrugged as if he'd simply forgotten them, but he picked them up as if the cup held a fresh egg sac of poisonous spiders. Nerine reached past him and filled a disposable cup with tap water. She held it out for him.

"Don't tounge them," she ordered sternly. He glanced at the water, then the pills. He took the cup from her carefully. She watched him take them, arms folded over her chest. He winced as he swallowed. She tried to pretend she didn't see.

"Let me carry your bag, okay?" she offered weakly. Falco nodded, anything to be free of the tiny room and the crushing awkwardness between them, made worse by the fact they had once been so close.

He followed her out of the bathroom and into his hospital room. A jacket with torn elbows was laying on his bed, next to a backpack filled with things that Relle had recovered from the Hot Rodder hideout. It wasn't much, a couple shirts and a pair of shades maybe. It was humbling to see his life fit into one bag. Nerine picked up the jacket and helped him put it on, laying it carefully over his left shoulder. His arm was in a sling, rendered unusable thanks to the gunshot wounds. She picked up his backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She noticed the exhausted expression on his face, and she smiled honestly and took his hand.

"I'm glad you're coming with us Falco, this will be good. It'll be good for all of us."

"I hope so."

XxXxXx

The docks of Rho were always full and bustling. They were the only large hub outside of the main city that was allowed to take ships from outside of Eladard, and so it was a melting pot for the rest of the planet. Four or five different dialects of Undercommon were being thrown around constantly between the deck hands, and Drakke was right along with him, shouting orders as they loaded his belongings onto an antique frigate. Despite its age, it was well taken care of, and its name was painted in blazing red on the side: Great Fox.

"Drake!" a familiar voice called to him. He didn't hear it at first, mispronounced and said in Common, but a few more tries drew his attention to a fox striding towards him. He was dressed in his trademark flight suit, with his aviator sunglasses perched atop his head. Another young man followed a step behind him, a spitting image of his father. Drakke smiled and waved.

"Jay-mes," he attempted, his accent causing him to trip, "and Fox MecCloud. It's wonderful to see you again. I am sorry for all se cargo. I'd rather have my own equipment you see."

"No trouble at all, I'm glad you took me up on the offer. You do excellent work but getting the Great Fox into Eladard is a nightmare."

"Yes, well, Catalina, they don't like offworlders in the sectors, you see. Too easy to smuggle things in and out without them knowing. And you, you come often, makes them nervous, you see."

"Right, of course. Well, I guess you can't blame them."

"Guess not," Drakke echoed, in a tone that said he most definitely could. "I have another passenger coming, someone I did not anticipate. I hope this does not cause so many headaches for you?"

"No no, one more shouldn't be a problem. Who is it?"

"Ah, my son, Falco. You have not met him. 'E won't cause you trouble. 'E's a good boy, 'e won't cause trouble."

"I didn't know you had a son besides Russ."

"We were not so sure, for a little while..." Drakke glanced evasively over his shoulder as he said this, avoiding James' confused look. A smile split over his face when he saw his family coming towards him. His wife, Edie, had a death grip on Russe's arm, but she was smiling brightly and laughing with her children. They walked in a tight gaggle around her, every one of them towering over the petite woman. Nerine was to her left, laughing along with her, while Britt walked to Russe's right and quietly listened as she always did.

Nerine was holding Falco's hand, and he allowed himself to be gently pulled along by her. Drakke couldn't help but be surprised to see him. He'd promised to straighten up before. Drakke had taken to calling the hospital every few hours to make sure his son hadn't taken off between shifts as he usually did. Falco was staring at the sheet metal floor, trying to look disinterested in the conversation, but he was watching everything out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, the young man looked up, into his father's gaze. He winced as if it was painful, but didn't break away. Drakke offered a coaxing smile and a nod.

A firm grip on his elbow reminded him that James was there, and he too was staring at the rough looking youth. His eyes didn't convey the same charity that Drakke had tried to extend.

"Drake, what the hell."

"'Ez sick, 'e'll get better."

"I know a junkie when I see one."

Drakke put his hand on James' and squeezed a little, before delicately prying it off. "'E'll cause you no trouble," he assured him again, before splitting off to meet the oncoming gaggle. He embraced Edie immediately, expertly trading her onto his own arm.

"_We should get you inside eh? You look about ready for a rest,_" he offered. She clicked her tongue dramatically.

"_My boy's just come home to me and you want me to sleep?_" she chided, "_I don't ever want to sleep again._"

"_Ma, it's just me, it's nothing to get worked up over,_" Falco said with a smile. Edie's face scrunched up in protest, but she couldn't think of a witty reply besides the normal rebuffs of a mother.

"Can I help you move some stuff?" a bright voice broke in. It belonged to Fox McCloud, who'd been politely waiting while his father walked off to double check everything was in place for takeoff. The docking permits were very specific and theirs expired in just under two hours. Edie stared at him blankly, not understanding a word of Common. Russe grabbed a few bags and handed them to him, thanking him politely. They followed him into the loading hatch of the Great Fox and up into its body. It had a few private quarters from its time as a military vessel, and the Lombardi family took them all. Nerine led Falco into the room he would be sharing with Russe and set his backpack on the bed. Fox put Russe's things down next to the inflatable mattress on the floor. As he did, he caught Falco's eye.

"Hey there."

"_Piss off._"

"Oh, sorry, I don't really speak Undercommon."

Nerine elbowed Falco hard in the ribs. "He said hello. Sorry, he's a little bit shy around people that aren't from Rho, but he's going do his best to speak Common, _aren't you Falco_?" the last part she growled menacingly. Falco rolled his eyes but didn't reply, and Nerine took his silence as relent.

"_Nerine! Give me a hand with your mama's things!_"

Nerine skipped out immediately, leaving Fox and Falco alone. Falco pointedly tried to ignore him, and Fox stood staring as Falco rooted around in his bag, taking stock of his meager possessions.

"What happened to your arm?"

"I got shot," he replied dismissively.

"By who?"

"The cops."

"Why?"

"Because I was high and I guess it seemed like a good idea."

"Wow… does that happen to you a lot?"

Falco glared over his shoulder at him, "being shot or getting high?"

"Uh, neither I guess… nevermind. I'm Fox."

"I know who you are. My dad's been working for your dad forever."

"Right, well, I've never seen you around before. Dad says I should probably steer clear of you. Y'know, 'til he gets to know you better.'

"And yet, here you are."

"You seem like an okay guy, and dad doesn't know everything about everyone. How come I've never seen you before?"

"I had a bit of a falling out with the family. Haven't been around for a couple of years." He was fighting to get a few tangled shirts out of his dirty bag as he spoke. Fox reached gently around him and pulled the pack out of his grasp, fishing out the shirts and laying them on the bed for him. Two tank tops, one red and one blue, and a black sweater. They were all a little tattered and worn.

"Is this all you have?"

Falco shrugged, trying his best to fold them with one hand. Fox picked up one and helped him. "I'll get some from Russe. He's my size. Kinda."

"What do you call him? Roosah? Dad always called him Russ."

"Your dad is saying it wrong. Cornerians always say it wrong."

"Okay well, how do you say your name?"

"Falco. It's not that hard. Do you seriously have nothing else to do than sit here and ask me stupid questions?"

"Nerine said you'd had a rough couple of days and you might need a hand with stuff."

"Of course she did."

"I can just leave if you want, you're kind of a dick."

Falco laughed louder than he should have. "Nah, you've already got me talking Common, you may as well stick around. As you can see, I don't have a lot of stuff to put away. What else could you stand to do with me?"

Fox shrugged. "I could give you a tour of the ship."

"Alright, let's go."


End file.
